After Eden. Harold J. Recinos

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СКАЧАТЬ crossed the border after

      walking for miles with an

      open mouth eating fresh

      clean air and scraps of

      corn and beans given to

      me by old women who

      promised to pray. alone,

      at night, after staring for

      awhile at a brilliant partial

      moon, I pulled out the book

      of lies to read a few lines to

      see whether this time it would

      convince me to believe in the

      perfection on the other side of

      the stars, in peace soon to come

      this way like a blinking light at

      a busy traffic corner that says

      take the next turn to find the

      promised land. I crossed the

      border to discover a different

      neverland, to live in a world

      of stares that make God flinch,

      work my farmers hands in city

      days and stay out of sight each

      long dark night. I left the place

      where the air is brown, made it

      to the choking English streets,

      spend extra time in my large room

      of memories, and look around for

      loving kindness to hit me like a

      glad verse from the book of psalms.

      I crossed the border like Christ with

      undocumented faith, a heart half-full

      of doubt, and an old pocket Bible

      deeply out of step. I crossed the

      border to the land happy to march

      strangers like me to the grave, while

      yelling on the way there is no light

      from heaven for wetbacks and spics!

      The Scent

      in the autumn of life age

      delivers us to unsuspected

      worlds where quietly we sit

      to observe the leaves on the

      fall trees gently touch earth.

      we wonder about things left

      undone, the pitch desires still

      circling in our graying hearts,

      the sweet bridges that brought

      us far, the beauty that is much

      deeper than changing form, flesh,

      and bones. each day more loosely

      laced, we feel the world young in

      every part within, the memories

      of reckless youth now giving us

      sweet rest, and the things we love

      alas not weak in each tasty living

      breath. we live where time is no

      longer complained, a place where

      dreams sluggishly still make their

      way into the light, the deeply hidden

      spring that has held thousands of tears

      and bathes us now with the scent of

      heaven that was always near—this

      we say delivers us!

      The Storm

      in our twenty-first century

      the devastation of a storm

      threatening to leave more

      dead than anyone has the

      strength to bury in soggy

      ground exposes stars and

      stripes sinking into a vast

      sea. our flag placed on the

      distant moon the hurt and

      dying nightly see is like a

      desert mirage for Spanish

      speaking citizens who do not

      count for the president as other

      than spics! the sweet chariots

      of God cannot even rescue the

      condemned who live each day

      afraid since the foul mouthed

      head of a decaying democratic

      State gives no crying damn for

      flag or them!

      The Sting

      the history toward which

      the country slides will be

      memorized in the future

      with indecorous words,

      a bitter taste on tongues,

      the sound of heaped up

      wailing, and the Rose

      Garden haunted by all

      the anonymous dead in

      the deserts, mountains,

      cities, СКАЧАТЬ